


i'm only human

by peeves



Series: realistic smut [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peeves/pseuds/peeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Couple years in the future, Ian’s a swim coach, Mickey’s got an office job at an accounting firm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm only human

Mickey was washing the dishes when he heard Ian come home through the front door. There was a light thud when Ian tossed his gym bag on the floor on his way into the kitchen to refill his water bottle. He leaned against the counter adjacent to the sink, taking heavy gulps and watching his boyfriend scrub intently at one of the cereal bowls he used this morning.

“Hey,” Ian said simply. “How was your day?”

“Not bad,” Mickey replied, still not looking up at Ian. “Same as usual.” He used his forearm to wipe at the itch on his forehead, careful not to get soapsuds everywhere. “You left your protein powder all over the counter this morning,” Mickey said, careful to keep his tone neutral.

So that’s why Mickey seemed so off. Ian set his water bottle down and moved in to circle Mickey’s waist with his arms, and rested his chin on Mickey’s shoulder.

“You smell like chlorine,” Mickey mumbled, fighting the urge to lean back into Ian.

“Shouldn’t you be used to that by now?” Ian said, smiling into Mickey’s shoulder and nuzzling his neck. He rested there for a while as Mickey continued to scrub in silence. “Sorry about this morning. I was running late.”

Ian could feel Mickey give in with a sigh and relax in his arms at the apology, while scrubbing and moving on to rinsing the dishes. Kind of tired of not having Mickey’s attention on him, Ian rested his hands firmly on Mickey’s hips and squeezed, while pressing the front of his jeans into Mickey’s ass, moving in slow, hard circles.

“Stop washing the dishes,” he said lowly in Mickey’s ear.

Unperturbed, Mickey only cracked his neck in the direction away from Ian’s mouth, and continued rinsing. “Dishes aren’t gonna fuckin’ wash themselves,” he said, faking disinterest and hiding his grin at Ian’s impatience and tightening grip.

Ian reached underneath Mickey’s arm and shut off the faucet. Mickey put the plate he was holding down to save it from whatever was coming next, which predictably turned out to be Ian whirling Mickey around, back hitting the counter almost painfully, soapsuds flying everywhere and forcing Mickey to look Ian in the eye.

“Stop washing the dishes,” Ian repeated, the command clear from the tone of his voice.

Mickey leaned back into the little room he had and crossed his soapy arms. The motion forced his crotch further against Ian’s, and he ignored how his body responded to the proximity. Tilting his head up, he raised his eyebrows at his demanding boyfriend.

“Make me.”

Ian surged forward to latch onto Mickey’s bottom lip, and Mickey pressed forward to kiss him back, uncrossing his arms to move his hands over Ian’s shoulders, behind Ian’s neck, Ian’s head. Concentrated on the feel of Mickey’s hardening cock against his own, Ian pulled Mickey in tighter, kissed him deeper, rutted against him harder until they were both breathing heavily and jerking against each other. He didn’t notice what Mickey was doing until he bit Mickey’s lip and Mickey tugged at his hair in response, soapy hands intertwined in Ian’s now also soapy hair.

“Fuck you, I just showered,” Ian hissed, moving his hands down to their buckled jeans, undoing Mickey’s first before he worked on his own belt, pushing down Mickey’s pants and boxers as he tried to wiggle out of his own. Mickey chuckled, biting at Ian’s jaw and starting a hickey on his neck under his ear.

“Shower again,” Mickey murmured, tugging at Ian’s shirt. Ian paused to get rid of his shirt as Mickey did the same, then grabbed two handfuls of Mickey’s ass, bending his knees to thrust up against him, groaning at the feel of their hot cocks rubbing against each other. Mickey reached in between them to grasp them together, focusing on sliding the precome over the top half of Ian’s cock, then circling them both so they could thrust into his slightly sticky hands. This time it was Ian’s turn to suck at the skin at the base of Mickey’s neck, licking and kissing as Mickey swallowed and moaned. Mickey concentrated on jerking the both of them off, but when Ian’s fingers reached down to spread apart his cheeks and skim across his asshole, his cock throbbed and he inhaled sharply, thrusting more of himself into Ian’s hands.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he choked, letting go of their cocks and pushing Ian away. “Go get the lube.” Ian stood there, chest heaving and eyes bright, staring at Mickey. He stepped out of his jeans and kicked off his boxers so he was standing completely naked in front of Mickey, but completely still.

“The fuck are you doin’?” Mickey asked incredulously. “Get the damn lube!”

Ian chuckled breathlessly, staring straight into Mickey’s eyes. He scratched at his collar bone, then trailed his hand down, taking care to skim over his chest and his nipples before taking hold of his own cock and stroking himself slowly.

“Make me.”

Mickey’s jaw dropped, and the only sounds were Ian’s breathing, the slick sounds of his jerking, and Mickey’s panting. He quirked his eyebrows to say “really?” at his boyfriend who stared back smugly, squeezing tighter at his cock and mouth forming a silent “oh”.

Fine. Mickey pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and stood straight, mirroring Ian’s actions, stroking his own cock, taking care to focus on the head the way Ian would. He closed his eyes and imagined Ian’s large warm hands all over him, over his arms, around his waist, cupping his ass. Then, he switched his cock to his left hand, running his right hand through his hair and huffing out a breath before moving his hand to his mouth, licking and sucking obscenely, wetting his fingers. Eyes still closed, he reached back and used his now slick fingers to trace at his own rim before sinking inside, fingering himself.

“Mmm,” he hummed and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck again. When he opened his eyes, Ian didn’t look so smug anymore. Instead, he was gripping the base of his cock, keeping himself from falling over the edge, hating and loving the scene unraveling in front of him. Mickey paused his movements and cocked his head. “You gonna get the lube now?"

Ian’s jaw clenched and he turned away, heading towards their room to get the lube. Mickey laughed at his victory, and laughed even harder when Ian yelled from their room, “You better stop touching yourself!”

In between laughs, Mickey managed to respond. “Yeah? Or what?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ian was back and Mickey turned around, leaned over, and braced himself against the kitchen counter. Ian plunged his fingers roughly inside of Mickey and Mickey jolted slightly before regaining control over himself. He turned back to face his angry boyfriend and eyed the soap in his hair. “You want to fuck me in the shower?”

Ian ignored him and lined himself up, pushing in without warning. He usually gave Mickey time to adjust, but he really wasn’t feeling particularly considerate at the moment. He gripped onto Mickey’s hips harder, admiring the red fading hand-shaped marks all over his ass and hips, and drove in, focusing on bringing Mickey to the edge as quickly as possible.

Mickey gave as good as he got, thrusting backwards and delighting in the way Ian didn’t try to take it slow, the front of Ian’s thighs slapping against his ass, jolting him forward with every pound. One particular thrust was aimed so well, Mickey couldn’t help but clench around Ian’s cock as Ian watched the muscles contract and let out a low moan.

One hand on Mickey’s lower back and the other around his cock, Ian slipped out and smirked at the small whine that came out of Mickey. He roughly flipped Mickey around so they were facing each other again and he attacked Mickey’s mouth, kissing and sucking and licking with fervor. Mickey reached for Ian’s arms then shoulders, lifting one leg up to wrap around Ian’s, pulling their cocks together again. Ian’s hands were back at Mickey’s ass, kneading and pulling, and with a great amount of effort, he lifted Mickey onto the counter.

“Fuck, this is the fucking kitchen man,” Mickey complained, but opened his legs anyways so Ian could step in between.

“Not like you give a shit,” Ian grunted, arms supporting the backs of Mickey’s thighs and lifting him off the counter, slamming him against the nearest wall, which happened to support the shelf holding Ian’s protein powder, which fell onto the ground, spilling powder everywhere.

“Not again,” Mickey groaned. Ian at least had the decency to look slightly apologetic. Biting his lip, he hitched Mickey’s thighs higher above his hips, and thrust in deeply, roughly, the way Mickey liked it.

“Okay, again,” Mickey whispered. Ian leaned his forehead against Mickey’s as he fucked him up against the wall. “Again. Again, Ian, _yes_ ,” Mickey breathed out, arching his back to further fuck himself onto Ian’s cock.

“Mick,” Ian groaned. The sweat on the backs of Mickey’s thighs and his hands weren’t making a sturdy combination right now, and he was torn between changing their positions again, or sinking deep inside of Mickey over and over again.

“Ian,” Mickey moaned in response, throwing his head back.

“Mick,” Ian tried again to warn his boyfriend that this whole fucking against the wall idea wasn’t really working out, especially with the way Mickey was rolling himself against Ian, slipping and sliding.

In attempt to maintain a firmer grip on to Mickey, Ian tried to lean more of Mickey’s weight against the wall to adjust his aching arms. The maneuver was unfortunately unsuccessful, and with an extremely surprised “FUCK!” Mickey was dropped on the ground, hitting his head against the wall on the way down.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Mickey yelled, glaring up at Ian from his spot on the ground.

Ian was red-faced and sweaty from embarrassment and exertion. Panting heavily, he wiped the sweat off his brow with his forearm. “Shit, sorry, fuck!” With minimal struggle, he sat down on the ground so he could face Mickey at eye level. Jesus, he was out of shape.  

“The fuck was that for??”

“Didn’t do it on fuckin’ purpose, alright?” Ian was flustered but indignant that he didn’t do anything wrong.

“Goddammit,” Mickey complained, banging his head against the wall again. “Mandy warned me this shit would happen!”

“The fuck?” Since when did Mickey talk to Mandy about their sex life?

“She said you fuckin’ swim coaches always end up with big beer bellies ‘cos all you do is sit on your ass and yell at kids. No fuckin’ wonder this happened, don’t know what all that fuckin’ protein powder’s for if you can’t even hold me up against a wall,” Mickey huffed out angrily, stretching his legs out on the floor in front of him.

Indignant, Ian reared back. “All _I_ do is sit on my ass? You literally work at an office, Mick. Your job is sitting on your heavy ass. Your job literally requires no physical strength!” As soon as those words left Ian’s mouth, he knew he hit a nerve.

“Yeah okay, you know what?” Mickey got to his feet and stepped over the mess they made, heading towards their room.

“Mickey—”

“Fuck you, why don’t you do everything by yourself now, huh?”

“Mickey, wait—”

“Use your _physical strength_! You can wash the dishes yourself, you can go _fuck_ yourself—”

“ _Babe_ —”

“—you can clean up your own goddamn protein powder by yourself—DON’T FUCKIN’ CALL ME THAT!” Mickey slammed the door behind him, ego and buttcheeks both slightly bruised.

Ian sighed in defeat, surveying the mess around him. He was distracted, drawing patterns into the protein powder on the ground when Mickey yelled again from their room.

“Finish the fuckin’ dishes!”

Ian rolled his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> LMAO ALRIGHT so here's my part 1 of my smutty realism series. people put on some weight over time, alright? especially if they're not working out every day. it's realistic.


End file.
